


Wager

by ladyofrosefire



Series: The Fjord Trash Fjic Quarantine Zone [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal, BDSM, Cock Warming, Community: criticalkink, Exhibitionism, Extremely mild dubcon warning, Light objectification, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Once again I blame Matt Mercer, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Safeword and 0 consequences for walking out, but let's be safe and respectful shall we?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 04:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: Written for the kinkmeme prompt: Fjord lost the card game, The Gentleman expects Fjord to pay his debt.Note on consent: Gentleman is technically in a position of power, but they have a safeword and communicate, and Fjord is capable of getting out of things as soon as he wants to.





	Wager

**Author's Note:**

> I am SUPPOSED to be rereading La Morte d'Arthur right now does anyone know where in the FUCK I left my self-control?
> 
> Thank you to damoselmaledisant for beta-ing

The Gentleman's hand cards through Fjord's hair again and he has to bite back a low rumble. 

Only he can’t bite anything right now because he has the Gentleman’s cock sitting heavy and mostly soft on his tongue. It’s not a bad experience, really. The taste of him is clean sweat and salt and musk, and he’s not being asked to do anything more than sit there and hold still. There’s a faint ache building in the corner of his jaw, now, but it’s nothing Fjord can’t ignore. He thinks he could tune out all of it if not for the fact that every time he starts to relax, the Gentleman reaches down and touches him. It’s only ever brief-- a brush of fingers through his hair or a hand squeezing the back of his neck-- but it’s enough to drag Fjord right back to the present.

The present being the main room of the Evening Nip.

When the Gentleman had first slid his chair back and gestured widely for Fjord to settle under the table, half the room had fallen to hooting and catcalls that had locked his knees and made him clench his jaw so hard his teeth ground together. They had gone quiet at another gesture from their leader, mostly. Then he’d raised one eyebrow at Fjord and waited. There had been another wave of noise as Fjord had gone to his knees, but that had hushed quickly.

Now, mostly, the room has returned to normal, and Fjord does not want to think about how often this man has someone under his table keeping his dick warm for him for his people to get over the sight so quickly.

He knows how he got himself here, and even looking back, he would not have backed out because, despite everything, there’s something about this whole situation that sends heat coiling low in his belly. It beats moving crates for the next couple of days.

If the godsdamn gnome would stop staring, though, he’d appreciate it.

He shifts on his knees, casting a glance sideways to where he can hear but not see the man giggling and shifting on his perch. A sigh comes from above him.

“You know, this really would be easier for you if you’d  _relax._ ”

Fjord huffs, which is really all he can do. He’d consider flipping him the bird, but that doesn’t seem like it would go over well.

The hand settles in his hair again. It’s too short to grip, so the Gentleman just cups the back of his head and guides Fjord in until his nose is pressed into soft, slightly damp hair. He swallows a few times, trying in vain to keep a thread of saliva from spilling past his lower lip and down his chin. He can feel his face heating, but the hand remains in the same spot, thumb rubbing lazily back and forth, back and forth, at the base of his skull. There’s a salt smell Fjord has no choice but to breathe in. He shifts again, and the Gentleman tuts, hand squeezing tight for a moment. He feels a swoop of dizziness that has nothing to do with how much oxygen he’s getting.

There’s a conversation going on above him, now, but the Gentleman shifts, slinging his legs over Fjord’s shoulders and half trapping him. His boots tap the small of his back. The idea of eavesdropping occurs to him, but between the hum of the tavern and the press of leather to either side of his head and the cock in his mouth, he can’t quite seem to pull anything useful out of whatever the hell is going on up there.

It’s getting harder and harder to stay still. His knees have begun to ache, and he needs to move his jaw. Fjord makes a muffled sound and swears he hears the Gentleman’s voice hitch for a moment. And once he does it once, it’s hard to stop. He’s not moaning. He refuses to consider the idea, but his head is swimming, and he can’t seem to shut himself back up.

“Excuse me,” he hears clearly as the Gentleman goes from using him as a footstool to sitting upright in his chair, “my newest acquisition is getting restless.”

Fjord feels his face flame but does his best to glare as the Gentleman leans back enough to stare down at him. It only gets worse when his thumb drags under Fjord’s lower lip, wiping up the saliva that’s spilled. He doesn’t have to look to know it’s dripped onto the floor.

“Pardon me for a moment.”

He has no illusions that he’s the one being addressed. The Gentleman is back to talking to whoever is up there even as he nudges Fjord’s mouth open and tucks himself back into his pants. Long fingers hook into the neck of his armor and draw him out from under the desk. He does not look around. Can’t. He can’t seem to drag his eyes off of the worn and stained boards of the Nip. He watches his steps and the Gentleman’s as they leave the main room and travel up a narrow stair. There’s another round of whistles and hollers as they come out on the walkway which the Gentleman acknowledges with a casual wave of one hand. Then he guides Fjord into a room with a hand on his back and shuts the door.

“Kneel.”

Fjord does before he even thinks about it, and then immediately wants to get back to his feet. The Gentleman’s hand comes down on his shoulder before he can.

“We have a few options.” He observes as he starts unbuckling Fjord’s armor. “I understand this takes some getting used to.”

Cool air tickles his chest as Fjord loses first his breastplate and then his shirt. When he raises his hands, an automatic gesture, the Gentleman catches his wrists and tuts again. The bracers come away next, along with the lengths of rope Fjord wears knotted around his arms and waist.

“Thoughtful of you to provide these,” the Gentleman observes before he proceeds to bind Fjord’s arms behind his back.

“ _Fuck--_ ”

“Shh…” One index finger pressed to his lips, tasting of salt, “I wasn’t done. Now, you’re close to where I need you. A little restlessness is normal, but what to do with it? I could conclude my business in the main room. You’d make a passable desk.” Rope winds around his shoulders and chest, holding his arms tight against his spine. It makes him push his chest forward, and the Gentleman takes the opportunity to pinch and tug on one nipple hard enough to make Fjord hiss.

“Or I could ask Sorah to come in and see if she could strap it out of you.”

Fjord’s eyes go wide, but he manages not to make a sound at that. It gets him an approving hum and fingers tugging and rolling his other nipple.

“I could fuck you.” He’s unlacing Fjord’s pants, now, tugging them off his hips and seemingly ignoring the now rapid rise and fall of his chest. “If you had a little more experience, I could fuck you, plug you up, give you something else to suck on, and let you make sure my glass stays full.” His smile turns saccharine. “But we both know you’ll try to eavesdrop, and while I like a little initiative in the people who work for me, I don’t like to see it in my things until they’re well trained.”

With his pants bunched around his knees and his arms bound behind him, he has no way to hide the way his cock twitches at that.

The Gentleman laughs, low and quiet and self-satisfied. “Of course, there is one other option.”

He pauses, and even though it’s obviously a test, Fjord almost asks.

Another moment passes before he continues. “I could see if I can convince you to come back. Then we could try it all. You may answer.”

Fjord swallows hard. “That sounds… mighty promising.”

“I am  _so_  pleased to hear that.”

 

Which is how he ends up face-down on the Gentleman’s bed with the Gentleman’s tongue in his ass.

There’s a bit in the middle Fjord does not want to think about and that he really wishes could have been done with whatever kind of spell Pumat uses to fix up the people who come to his shop, but that’s just not the point.

He likes to consider himself a reasonably worldly person, but he always had sort of assumed stories about this were jokes.

Fjord makes another garbled noise as the Gentleman’s tongue pushes into him. As long as he doesn’t talk out of turn-- except for the word ‘nein’ if he’s had enough-- sound seems to be fine. That's good because the next drag of his tongue makes him shout into the pillow. He’s hard despite the strangeness of it, cock leaking against the mattress. When the Gentleman pulls away, it’s almost a relief. He sucks a bruise on the inside of Fjord’s thigh that matches the ones littered around his neck and shoulders.

“Well?” He asks.

“It’s. Well.” He clears his throat.

“If you haven’t made up your mind, I could call someone else in to keep going until you do--”

“No! No, I-- it was good.”

“Good?” The tone is so bland it’s circled all the way back around to something that makes something like fear lance up Fjord’s spine.

“I liked it.” He has to pause, just for a second. “Sir.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He stands, then, and makes his way over to something with cabinet doors which open and close before he returns. He sets something on the mattress where he can’t see. Then oil-slick fingers are pressing into him and hooking upwards until Fjord jolts and tugs at the ropes. His arms have been rebound so they’re now bent and lashed forearm to forearm which each hand at the opposite elbow. It’s a bit more comfortable than the last tie, but it still means all he can do is grasp uselessly at the air while the Gentleman massages his prostate.

He feels a third finger probing at him soon enough.

“Will I be the first? And please, don’t try to lie to me.”

He nods. The fingers in him press up almost cruelly. “Yes!” He yelps. “Yes, sir.  _Fu--_ ”

“That’s all I need.” He cuts Fjord off. “Hush and enjoy the ride.”

He gets the third finger, along with enough oil that it runs down to his balls. He appreciates the care, of course, but--

His hips roll, and the Gentleman laughs.

“I ought to keep you here all night,” he observes, hooking his fingers to make Fjord cry out again. “But I’m feeling generous. Say please.”

When Fjord does not respond again, he spreads his fingers.

“ _Please_ ,” Fjord asks from behind gritted teeth.

“Your pride…” He sighs. “One more time, so I believe you.”

“Please, sir.”

“Much better.” He withdraws his fingers. “I’m going to go slowly. Tell me if you need slower.”

It’s very considerate, all things considered, he thinks a little hysterically. Considering the ropes and the bet that had brought him here and the fact that he could stop this. He could say one word and end it all. Instead, he pants and grits his teeth as the Gentleman breaches him. He had been generous with the prep, but his cock still stretches him. Slowly, an inch or so at a time, he rocks his hips forward, pushing him open. Fjord lies there, trying to catch his breath and trying not to groan.

“That’s it… very good. Relax.” He groans, and Fjord can imagine the long line of his throat drawn taut as he tips his head back. “ _Gods_ , I knew you'd have an excellent ass.”

His hand takes a firm grip on the ropes around Fjord’s arms. He starts slowly. Is it to let him adjust or to drive him crazy? It’s not completely comfortable, but he gets used to the stretch and the odd pressure soon enough. He bears the slow pace for a while longer. When he tries to grind back, the Gentleman moves his hand to the back of his neck and holds him.

“A little patience…” The angle shifts and Fjord bites his tongue trying not to shout. “There. That’s better. Are you sure you want it faster?”

It feels like a trick question, but he nods anyway and then, when it becomes clear that he has to use his words, whispers another “Please, sir.”

The Gentleman obliges. After that, staying quiet gets much harder. The angle isn’t the same every single time, but it’s often enough to make Fjord flush and pant and try to thrust back against him. He tries to muffle himself against the pillow, but he needs to  _breathe_ , and the quickened rhythm of the Gentleman fucking him keeps knocking what air he can draw from his lungs. When Fjord finally gives in and lets himself moan, he rewards him with a slick hand around his cock, stroking in counterpoint to the well-aimed thrusts.

“ _Oh_ , Gods.” Fjord tugs uselessly against the ropes around his arms.

“What was that?” The hand squeezes a little tighter, just for a moment. “Were you saying something?”

He has to scrabble for words, even though he knows what he should say. “Thank you, sir.  _Fuck_ \-- thank you.”

It gets him a breathless laugh and a hand rubbing between his shoulders. “Would you like to come?”

It had not actually occurred to him that there were  _options_. He makes a noise he can’t even pretend isn’t frantic and nods again. “Yes, please. Please, sir.”

The Gentleman’s fucking him now like he plans to finish the job, sounds of effort joining his occasional but uninhibited moans. But he hasn’t said yes, and Fjord finds himself drawn between not wanting to disappoint him, a thread of fear of what might happen if he did, and the need to come. He finds himself pleading quietly between moans, almost involuntarily. Need and pleasure twist together, tugging behind his balls. His fingernails dig into his arms. Heat drags at him, demanding and impossible to ignore. His begging picks up.

He feels the Gentleman’s sweat-damp chest against his back, the tickle of his hair and his beard against his ear. “You may come.”

His hand twists and Fjord shouts, pumping into his hand as his orgasm spills out of him. The Gentleman fucks him through it, hard enough to jolt him forward. Both hands come to seize his hips. His hips snap forward hard. The pleasure of it courses up his spine in compliment to the aftershocks. Then there’s a rush of warmth and wet, and the Gentleman folds forward over his back with a long, low groan.

He stays there, catching his breath and giving Fjord a chance to do the same. Then he nips gently at the shell of Fjord’s right ear. “Well  _done_.” Slowly, gently, he pulls out. “Hold still one more moment. I have a… gift for you.”

Fjord frowns but does as he’s told. He can wait another moment to collapse, he thinks. A second later, he startles as something cool, slick, and smooth nudges against his hole and makes him gasp. It pushes into him, flaring steadily before abruptly tapering off. There’s another wide piece beyond that which holds it in place.

“What--” He hasn’t seen as much as Jester, but he still knows  _what it is_ , so he corrects himself. “Why? …Sir.”

“Because I can?” The Gentleman starts untangling the ropes, his hands as sure as they had been while binding him. “Because I like the idea of you walking back with something to remember me by.”

“Oh, Gods.” Fjord wishes his arms were free already so he could cover his face. His cock tries to twitch.

“You don’t  _have_  to keep it.” He pulls the last of the rope away and then swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He sits there, combing his hair back from his face with his fingers. “But… I would count it as a personal favor. And I’d like you to keep it for if you come back.”

Fjord thinks about the options that he had not taken, the dizzy warmth that had filled his mind since about half an hour after he’d settled to his knees under the table, and the way his body feels now, sore but sated, and steady in a way he’s not used to.

“We’ll see.”

“That’s all I can ask, I suppose.” He gets to his feet and then offers Fjord a hand. “This way if you’d like a chance to clean up before you return to your friends.”

“They’re gonna want to know why I get to leave.”

“Tell them what you like.”

He ushers Fjord to a side room where a large tub of steaming, faintly-scented water waits. Walking is… interesting, but he makes his way to it and settles in to soak and scrub. In the next room, he can hear the sound of swishing liquid and something he assumes is the Gentleman brushing his teeth. His mouth smells of very strong alcohol when he comes by and leans down to bite again at Fjord’s neck. His hand slips beneath the water as he sucks hard enough to raise another bruise and finds the base of the solid, glass plug. Then he gives a satisfied hum and settles into the water across from him.

They don’t fuck again, and Fjord is not sure whether he’s grateful or not. The Gentleman helps him wash his back and checks over his arms for any lingering soreness. The hot water has eased that, though, and Fjord tells him as much. It’s almost too easy to relax and let his head rest against the edge of the tub, breathing in the steam. After, they each redress, Fjord in his armor and the Gentleman in a fresh pair of pants and a loose shirt that looks at home on the cover of one of Jester’s romance novels.

“I’ll, uh--” he jerks a thumb toward the door. “Be goin' then?"

“Perhaps when you go back to your friends, you can tell them that I’ve reconsidered. Bring them by soon and we can discuss business.”

He snorts loudly. “Thanks for that. I think.”

There was no way in hell they weren’t going to jump to the right conclusion after that, but he can always lie. Then he takes another step and catches sight of the bruises on his neck at the same time that he finds himself abruptly reminded of the plug in his ass.

While he’s trying to school his features into something he doesn’t mind walking through the main room, the Gentleman approaches and cups the back of his neck with one hand. They’re of about the same height and it makes it easy for him to lean in and kiss Fjord, slow and somehow filthier than-- well, than almost anything he’d done that day.

“Come back soon, won’t you?” He drawls. His other hand finds Fjord’s ass and gives it a firm squeeze. “I wasn’t joking about your ass.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'm on Tumblr at ask-ladyofrosefire


End file.
